


BEST INTEREST.

by judesrivers



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst (?), John and George does not allow it though, John thinks Paul is a butterfly, Lots of things, M/M, Paul and Stuart bicker like an old married couple as usual, Paul hates trees but loves nature, Paul is going through a crisis, Paul wants to do things to John, Pete is amused by the chaos, Smut, george is cute, light humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judesrivers/pseuds/judesrivers
Summary: Paul is madly in love with John. He begins to do stuff out of the ordinary as he tries and give his feelings a run-through.John wonders what the hell is happening to his Macca, and why has he been acting off.Stuart wants to know why Paul is shaving his body hair with his razor.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	BEST INTEREST.

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve never written a 5k fic, especially with the writers stump i’m in now. enjoy!! or don’t!! i’m down with anything tbh because i know i write like shit. excuse errors!

Poke.

John's face scrunched up.

Another poke.

John grunted, tossing and turning until he felt another poke conjure in his rib cage.

"John." Came a voice, it sounded wrecked, miserable and stuffy. John immediately knew who it was nonetheless. Fluttering open his eyes, and taking in a breath, John looked up through a haze of sleep at Paul who stared down at him with a trembling bottom lip.

"Paul? What-" John slurred through his tiredness, sitting up in the small bed. "What are you doing up? We got to be up early for the show."

Paul went on and sniffled, aggressively rubbing his nose with the back of his pajama sleeve. John watched deliriously as the younger boy parted his lips, willing to say something, but instead he shook his head. "Never mind, go back to sleep."

John blinked harshly, and in one second — Paul was gone as if he was not standing at John's bedside only a couple of seconds ago.

The next morning it was a cold day in Hamburg. Temperatures averaging 3.9 celsius. George and Pete set out earlier to go and scrap up some breakfast to bring back before they go on practicing for a show at ten o'clock in the morning. Stuart, Paul and John were left coldly settled at the inn they were forced to situate in.

John stared at Paul while Stuart, who sat beside him, was engaged on tuning his bass. Paul's face was pale, contrasting to his almost-black hair messily dangling in front of his face, a conclusion of him not feeling up to slicking up his hair that day. John seemed to notice that Paul McCartney had natural curls. His hair was not something that John didn't pay enough attention to, it was just that - Paul always had his hair attained. This leaves another question for John, what the hell was Paul's hair color? One day, a beaming sun smoothes out a jet black glistening hairstyle on him. The next day, Paul's hair glows into this brown colored haven that John yearns to run his fingers through. Was Paul going through a metamorphosis? Is this why he woke John up in the youthful night with his face flushed, and his eyes twinkling with salty liquids.

It's not like John hadn't witnessed Paul going through body changing experiences. For example, when he met up with the boy at the park a couple of years back with a notebook and pencil.

"Hey Macca," John gleefully barked, ready to see his best mate after not contacting him for a full on week.

"Hey Johnny." Came a much more deeper sounding reply, and it was at that moment John realized what Mimi meant by; 'Taking a leap into the pit.' Paul's voice dropped it hadn't dropped a lot per-say, but it was entirely much more mature sounding compared to when he first met Paul.

Not like Paul's voice was all high pitched or some shit. It was just abnormally soft, he was very soft spoken and the way he spoke was hypnotically empowering. The poshness, but relative Liverpudlian accent that still melts into the specific pronunciations he makes always drew John in.

And hell yeah, it still does.

Paul could not have been going through a second dose of puberty, could he? Was that even scientifically possible? No, probably not. John felt even stupid for questioning it. Maybe Paul was just thinking. Thinking about what? Oh, you know. At the very least - you can assume what it was. Mary.

John hadn't realized how long he's been staring at Paul until Stuart threw a leather loafer shoe at the side of his head.

Paul stared at the tip of his own fingers pressing harshly against the neck of his guitar. His own senses wrestling over themselves as he finally felt John's intense gaze lift off of him. Several years of pining can only get so much harder, it was inconsolable at this point, leaving Paul through sleepless nights. Why would he even think something so horrid. So sinful, although he was not religious — there was something metaphorically off about this situation.

Paul asked himself, could he even call it pining? What a weird word for such a small thought about how it'd feel to have John's arms wrapped around him, claiming him, holding him.

Suddenly a string on his guitar went plung and he jumped. John was too busy quarreling with Stuart for a shoe being thrown at his head to notice it. Paul's eyes gazed down onto the curled, glimmering, and broken guitar string that he needed for the show. Also a guitar that his father had bought him with the last of the money they had left for that birthday weekend.

Fuck.

Paul had just sagged his body, loosening his grip on his guitar as he stared ahead deadpanned.

"John."

John huffed, taking his mean gaze off of Stuart and focusing his eyes on Paul. It took him a few seconds to realize that Paul had called out his name for the first time since last night. Whatever last night was.

"Yeah?"

Paul self-loathingly sucked his teeth, and stood up from the chair he sat in to begrudgingly walk over towards the older male. "My guitar is broken, I need to get the string fixed before we could play." He said, as he casually held the instrument towards John.

John stared at the guitar, quickly noticing that one useless string all dislocated. Stuart came up to his side, and took a good look at it.

Before John could say something, Stuart decided to open his mouth in a joking tone of voice as he spoke. "I'm sure no one would notice it." His eyes looked up from the guitar towards Paul, a playful smile on his face.

"I didn't fucking ask you." Paul spat, inching towards the older man with his eyes flaring in subtle annoyance towards Stuart.

Stuart scoffed, "What did I do to you now? I swear it's every time I try and talk with you, you act like an arse towards me."

"It doesn't matter because I wasn't even talking to you, so why did you decide to open your trap anyways?"

"Because I can. It's not like you can shut me up." Stuart prompted, which earned him a sight of the younger one balling up his fist in preparation.

That's when John clicked his tongue, and quickly surged up towards the younger man. With a tired exhale, he rested his palm against Paul's chest. The last thing they needed was a fight before a concert, especially one against Paul and Stuart. The last one they had disturbed the lots of people, and it earned them paying a fine. "Okay, stop, stop. Paul let me try and fix the string, it doesn't look too bad."

Paul's eyes were still deadlocked on Stuart, but he handed his guitar over to John nonetheless. When Stuart looked away, Paul looked away and went back over to his chair with his face still hot from Stuart's presence. Maybe the other man was right. In the beginning, Stuart annoying him was purposeful but in awhile Stuart began to be warmer with him. Paul was the opposite, he did not know why. Or he did, but he tried to vaguely deny it.

Pushing his knees up to his chest and slinging his arms around them, Paul watched expressionlessly as John tended to work on his guitar. Stuart was busy drawing something in a fucking notebook than to practice. Earlier he seemed absolutely confused while tuning his bass, ultimately he just dropped the shit and started playing Picasso instead. It made Paul frustratedly conclude as to why he was so shit at playing bass. As to why it seemed as if the man was not getting any better. His head was too up in the art clouds to pay attention to whatever tune they needed to work on.

Paul has just dug his nails into the black fleece sweats he was wearing, and kept his head lowered, but his eyes were still on John. When he was around John, he'd never felt so tempted to kiss that witty attitude away and open up the softness that was usually there under that mantle of toughness.

Holy shit, he was in love with his best friend. Why does this always happen to him?

Thankfully George and Pete entered the room with white, styrofoam takeaway containers.

"We nicked some fresh waffles." Pete said, as he passed the different containers out.

George took a glimpse at John fixing Paul's guitar and furrowed his eyebrows. "What happened to your guitar Paul?" He asked, turning his head towards his older friend who seemed to be in another place. Like he was in a spiritual situation.

"String broke." Paul answered, while slowly unwrapping himself and placing his feet back down onto the floor.

George Harrison. They did everything together, everything. The way he had been feeling about John lately seemed to give him an idea that could ultimately end up in a bad climax or the other way around.

•••

John surprised himself when he fixed Paul's guitar only a few minutes before the concert. He was also surprised when Stuart proved Paul wrong in that same concert, his bass playing was actually good. Very incredible, unlike usually when Paul would have to quit his guitar playing and go over to Stuart to help him out. They did about four ballad numbers, it was short because it was still early and the club was not exactly filled like it would be on nights.

Instead of a massive amount of adrenaline, there was some type of contentment instead. John came back into the room and flopped onto the tiny bed, everyone else awaited for some type of shower. Paul was the first one in the bathroom though.

Paul was acting weird lately, but once again John guessed it was a metamorphosis happening with him. Paul had been forming some more masculine features, a jawline and his shoulders began to become more squared, he's getting taller. Paul still had small hands though, but the skin was becoming thick and rough. They way they wouldn't fit on John's more broader ones was adorable. His eyes, they stayed the same. Beautiful eyes. Paul still had those lips that pissed John off, why were they so soft looking for a man? It's like God was playing tic tac toe or fucking charades while creating Paul McCartney. John stared up at the ceiling, and squinted his eyes. Did he just say Paul had beautiful eyes?

And adorable hands?

John figured he was having a metamorphosis too.

Things only started to get weirder from that point on, in John's perspective, maybe Paul was having some sort of relapse. John was not sure of what though, but it was possibly of something Paul had experienced when he only knew George. Although that would not make any sense because Paul would have told him at one point.

"Paul, are you having a bloody wank in there or something? It doesn't take that long to wash between your ball sacks and arse." Stuart said, he was shirtless with a towel slung in top of his shoulders. All he wanted was a quick wash up, plus he had a girl waiting for him in the afternoon and it was much more of a rush to get Paul out of the loo then normally.

"Piss off," Came a irritated response from the bloke in the loo.

"Right, I'm throwing you out." Stuart replied, rolling his eyes as he opened the door to spot Paul stark naked, finishing shaving the pubes around his cock with the same electric razor that Stuart used to shave off the stubble that grows in.

The silence seemed much more louder than actual words.

Stuart looked as if his skin actually turned green, and the way his eyes widened into saucers made Paul take a mental picture. With a shaky hand, Stuart pointed his index finger at the razor Paul was carelessly holding near his crotch. "Is- is that my-..my-"

Paul's face had flushed a darkened red, and a timid growl escaped the depths of his throat, rattling his lungs as he screamed. "GET OUT!"

•••

John was flabbergasted to say the least, trying to pinpoint on whether to be disgusted or laugh at what Stuart just told him. "You can't be serious, there's no way he was shaving down there. None of us do, why should we?"

"John fuck that. Why was he using my razor? I use that to shave my own beard! And he just- God it was so fucking gross John."

"Save me the details."

John could not help but to shake his head, a smile on his face of sheer amusement. What a dirty move Macca, that's not like you mate. Using someone's utensils to shave off your pubes? You're rancid boy, that's what you are. At the same time, John wondered why he was shaving down there out of all places to shave. Did he get a comment about his pubic hair from a bird? And if he did, why the fuck did it matter to him? If he was shaving his pubic hair, then that also means he could have shaved his legs and his armpits.

John thought humorously about it, until he started to imagine how soft they must've felt now. Cynthia, whenever she shaved her legs, they were so fucking soft, he could not get enough of it. It was hallucinating, so fucking soft to squish and touch all over. It could lead from one thing to another in just a snap, which was so entertainably ridiculous to John.

Paul what the hell are you shaving for you bloody oaf?

"John, are you listening?" Stuart asked, eyeing the fuck out of John with an annoyed expression.

"Nope." John honestly replied, and to get more under Stuart's skin he had popped the p at the end. "C'mon, the bloke shaved his dick. So what? It's his body, let him do whatever he wants with it. Plus, it gets a little itchy down there with all that hair anyway."

With a grimace at John's declaration, Stuart shook his head. "I'm not going on about that shit anymore dumbass. I need you to lend me some quid so I can buy another razor." He spat, as he held out his hand which was shaking with little patience he had left with the situation.

"Ask George, I don't have any on me right now." John had selfishly lied, high-fiving Stuart's hand anyway since it was in his face. He did have money, but he wanted to save up for the week for some more equipment that they needed.

Stuart rolled his eyes, seeing past John's fib anyway. "He's in the shower."

"I thought Paul was." John blinked.

"You idiot, he got out awhile ago all cleanly shaven and went off somewhere. George got in after him, I refused to because..no."

John's face molded into a determined expression as he pulled out three quid from his front pocket, handing it to Stuart. "Well I'm going to go find him, and ask him why he's been acting weird lately."

"Ask him why he hates me too."

•••

There was a sharp intake of breath, and then Paul had opened his eyes. The blue skies dawning over him, and flocks of birds departing from his surroundings to find another desolate place where a obnoxious human could not find them. Sitting up, he ran a hand down his face and looked at the grass that he sat on. Afterwards, he flopped back against the bed of plants he made earlier.

The poor plants, the poor dirt, all they have to live for is being shitted on by fertilizer that reeks havoc. Then animals like goats and sheep that love to drool all over the precious young plants, tugging them off of the ground so they could be forced into their body.

Paul loved nature though, it was unproblematic in a way that humans won't ever understand. They find it weird, and hard not to touch, not to destroy. Why can't they just look and take it in? To respect nature. It was around before humans were, so why should the bloody species come in and ruin everything with their dumbass perspectives on how they believe things should be.

Paul stretched himself out in the grass, feeling tingles as his shaven skin brushed against the cloth of his clothing. He had no idea why he shaved all the hair off of his body, (except for his head hair, and eyebrows, and lashes) it felt as if he wanted to though. Like hey what the hell? Let's grab Stuart's razor and go nuts on our fucking nuts. Paul dipped a hand into his pants, feeling up on the soft skin that surrounded his you-know-what. He had no idea that his skin was this delightful to feel up on. It made him want to fuck himself.

Paul had frustratedly sighed into the air, removing his hand to rest his forearm against his eyes and just laying there pathetically. Christ, he wished John would understand the overly strong feelings Paul has for him. That's all he's been thinking about. Fucking John, John, John. Ha, 'fucking John' he thought about that too. For a moment, he wished John was the one in his shoes and he thought about John being the one that shaved. He bet John's skin was soft too. Holy shit.

Paul let out a strangled sob. Why. Paul balled his hand that rested at his side into a fist, and started punching at his own side for feeling this way. Why can't you just think straight you fucking nuisance? You'd rather think about your best friend choking you out than a bird doing it instead.

Through harsh crying, Paul began to imagine a girl's hand wrapped around his neck and choking him as she rode his cock. To be honest, it was not a bad thought but for some reason it made him sob even harder.

After five minutes; Paul gathered himself and glared up at the tree above him. "Stupid tree, standing up there all tall and fucking mighty. I bet you think that you're the shit huh? I bet you think that you're bloody Elvis and- and you run the band. Well I run the band too you dumb tree, you're not the only gorgeous dimwit that runs the band."

A breeze made the tree leaves wither. It made Paul's silky hair sway gloriously in the wind as well, but Paul's staring contest with the tree was yet to be affected.

"Yeah I'm talking to you." Paul spat, and then realized he was talking to a tree. A fucking tree. He feels like he’s fucking Juliet right now. Just to his own thought, he sighed. “John, ‘O John. Why art thou in my head John? Get out of my head. Why do I love you John?” 

Paul got quiet for a couple of seconds afterwards, staring back at that damned tree.

This time to be more dramatic, Paul raised both hands to his hair, and began to pull on it as he rolled to his stomach. "Fuck John get out of my head you- you beautiful shit!" He cried out, tremors running through his body as he felt himself lose it once again.

"Uh Paul?"

The soul of Paul seemed to run out of the realm of being in the same area as Paul at that very moment. The boy went as pale as piece of paper, and suddenly a wave of nausea struck him as he heard that fucking voice. Paul sat up on his knees, and was tempted to sprint far away from John which would possibly have him become lost in Germany. Obscenities of all kind kept repeating in his head as he slowly stood up to his feet, turning around to face John Lennon. He forced his face to be as deadpanned as he could make it, and it was hard to keep when it he saw how wide John's eyes were. "How did you find me?" Paul managed to croak out, his chest becoming unbearably heavy.

"Dunno, I just-" John had swallowed hard, and seemed to forget what he was here for. "I looked everywhere for you, and this was the last place I looked at."

Paul blinked, and scrunched up his nose before itching it. "Did you hear all of that?"

"Yeah."

Paul's expression at the moment was cartoony, and John made an effort to not laugh at it. Even though John heard everything, he wanted to make sure he was not misunderstanding anything and if he was it would make the situation awkward. Paul blinked, avoiding John's gaze purposely, he felt as if he met his eyes then he would die on the spot without any repercussions. The way his heart was beating right now was unbelievable, it'd make doctors faint on the spot. It seemed as if anything went wrong at this moment, Paul may succumb into cardiac arrest.

John took in a breath, and took a step forward towards Paul. "You know um- I don't know what to say. I can not say that I don't feel the same way. That'd just be a full on lie." John said, and he meant it. Lately, due to John's lack of calling out what it is and blaming it on a bullshit metamorphical-hypothesis, this realization brought out all the emotions he felt for Paul lately. Those beautiful eyes, the features, and the way his eyes would linger on those lips whenever they both finished a conversation. Shit the signs were all there, and it was so obvious that John had felt something. He kind of felt bad for having Paul come out of his comfort zone, or not, just talking to a tree to figure out.

Paul's eyes locked onto his finally, and it made John certain that 'yeah, I might be in love with him' was the resolution to this. Paul huffed as John seemed to get closer to him, "Don't- don't just say that because you want to. Or if you feel the need to make a joke out of this, and make fun of me at the end, don't do that. Or I will fucking kill you." Paul threatened, and the how his voice dropped a level it made John wonder if he was not lying. He did not want to try and jinx it though.

"Likewise."

Paul looked at John through his eyelashes for a couple of seconds. "Fuck you're so.." Paul began, feeling tingles of everything that went right in his life begin to take control of him. "Can I just do something to you?" He asked with shaking hands, ready to risk it all at this moment. He's been waiting for this for so long. If John would let him.

"Fuck you're gorgeous." John breathed, and his sentence was halfway cut off when Paul's hands began to do their own thing. "What do you want to do to me?" Fuck the way John asked that question never pushed Paul to edge more than it did.

Paul didn't answer, instead he pulled John's hand so that they were nearby the tree. Silently, he told John to lay down on his back in the grass under the tree and when John did, Paul immediately straddled him.

Paul took to John's neck, his hands effortlessly undoing button after button. John had his hands resting on Paul's arse, gripping, rubbing, squeezing against the cheeks as Paul's lips, teeth and tongue worked on his skin. John hadn't known what the hell was going on until he felt cool air hit at his chest and stomach, Paul seemed to be laser focused on whatever the fuck he was doing. All John knew is that with each suckling Paul had put on his neck, there was much more of a reason to give as of his dick was hardening underneath Paul's bottom. John's breath hitched as Paul trailed his kisses down against his chest, those fucking hands of Paul was caressing the side of John's body, the tips of his fingers twirling against his stomach. It sent shivers down John's body, and it made his back arch just a bit.

He didn't care if what they were doing right now was wrong, everyone can have their temper tantrums, Cyn could break up with him. John could not care less, but the feeling of Paul's fucking mouth on his body was mind boggling and he could not get enough of it. Paul's tongue traveled back up to John neck, after spending a stupendously craved amount of time on swirling against John's nipple.

Pulling away, Paul stared into John's eyes and licked at his already wet lips. "I just want to kiss you. All over the place. Make you feel good."

John moaned, and then turned around on the grass causing Paul to tense up at the sudden movement. Then he looked up at John on top of him, and it caused his eyes to widen bigger than they already had been at the sight of John on fucking top of him. His halfway bare body fitted in between Paul's legs, his shirt was opened and it did reveal his chest which was all Paul needed to be put to the edge.

"Shit your mouth kissed every part of me so far except my lips love." John had remarked, which made Paul smile sheepishly while the older leaned down to catch their lips together. Paul tilted his head, moaning as John put all his weight onto him whilst their lips moved together in sync. Paul's legs began to tremble at the side of John's waist, and the way he ran his hand through John's hair desperately, the way his tongue lapped against John's so passionately made it obvious that he had been craving this for years.

"Paul," John breathed as he kissed the corners of Paul's mouth, reaching for Paul's hands to link their fingers together at the side of Paul's head. "Want to make you cum, right here." He said, as he shifted his position so that their harden cocks were pressing against each other through their drainpipes.

Oh fuck, yes. This is it! This is it. This was the moment where Paul wanted to wake himself up from this dream, he couldn't just imagine what was next to come and he heartbroken when it comes to find out is was not real. Like the other night.

_Poke._

_John's face scrunched up._

_Another poke._

_John grunted, tossing and turning until he felt another poke conjure in his rib cage_.

_"John." Came a voice, it sounded wrecked, miserable and stuffy. John immediately knew who it was nonetheless. Fluttering open his eyes, and taking in a breath, John looked up through a haze of sleep at Paul who stared down at him with a trembling bottom lip._

_"Paul? What-" John slurred through his tiredness, sitting up in the small bed. "What are you doing up? We got to be up early for the show."_

_Paul went on and sniffled, aggressively rubbing his nose with the back of his pajama sleeve. John watched deliriously as the younger boy parted his lips, willing to say something, but instead he shook his head. "Never mind, go back to sleep_."

Paul nodded his head, and tightened his legs around John's waist. "Yes, lets do it." He said, his voice was dripping with lust that made it deeper than it already seemed.

John kissed him again, lovably drowning in the way Paul was quick to reciprocate it and pulled away a bit. "Want to feel you though. I know you shaved."

Paul choked out a laugh, and let John impatiently strip off the bottom half of his clothes. John did the same, only letting his drainpipes pool around his ankles before kneeling down in between Paul's broached legs again. When John was finally comfortable, he let his eyes observe Paul before him and he couldn't help but to linger a bit. He ran his warm hands against the shaved legs of the latter, taking in the softness one centimeter at a time. Fucking hell. John's breaths picked up heavenly, and it only grew worse when Paul's thighs started to tremble underneath the feeling of John's hands touching him.

"You're so soft baby." John said, his voice hungry for something but Paul couldn't tell what. John's hands dipped into Paul's crotch, shaved and cleared of whatever hair that was once there. Paul's back arched, and his voice raising slightly as he felt John run his hand against his cock. "Fuck John, hurry up." John's own cock throbbed at the demand, and that was when he finally laid against Paul so that their cocks finally brushed against each other.

Time had seemed to slow down as John began to rut against Paul. Moans were all locked up in kisses, but Paul made no hesitation to show that he was in overwhelming pleasure. Especially from the way he hooked his leg over John's waist and began to buck his hips up aggressively against John's so that his cock dragged along John's passionately. He'd do this repeatedly, as well as John doing it back to him which made the pleasure build up quicker than expected.

"Uh fuck," Paul moaned out in a wrecked voice, something that made John snap and pin the younger man down to wreck him mercilessly against the grass.

•••

"Where the fuck did you two go?" George asked, as Paul and John walked inside of the room they all shared. "Oh and John, I know that you're the only one that didn't shower when we got back from the show. So it's free, bloody skunk."

"I'll fart in your face Harrison." John threatened with a playful smile, and childish gleam in his eyes as he passed by the group of men to head towards the loo. Paul gazed at the back of John for a moment, long enough for George to notice but to his luck, he didn't and the younger man was back to writing down something in a miniature notepad.

_Possibly lyrics, why that silly Georgie._

Stuart darted towards Paul and grabbed at his wrist before Paul could even go into one of the rooms. Swiftly, he turned the younger man around and pinned him up against the wall violently - his face coming close towards Paul's. "The next time you touch one of my razors for your own benefit, I will fucking end you McCartney. You can say I'm a bad bass player or whatever you want, but the next time you put your little hands on my razor to shave the hair off your bloody prick, I'll shave your whole prick off. Got it?" He spat, his breath mingling angrily with Paul's.

Paul stared down at Stuart, a growing expression of anger that seemed to get worse by the second. George stood up, already ready to break up a fight but he couldn't seem to find a perfect angle to knock them off each other. So he uselessly watched as Paul's shaking hands balled up to fists at each side of his body. Stuart stared at Paul, waiting for him to squeak out an; 'Okay fine you dimwit, get the fuck off me' but instead all he got was Paul spitting thick fucking spit directly into his left eye.

George finally had space, and he took the opportunity to hold a disgusted Stuart back as he rubbed the fluid out of his eye. "Ew! That's bloody disgusting!" He gagged, while holding his eye. His body was unkempt with rage, and he seriously wanted to harm Paul but the neutral George Harrison holding him back was in the way.

Pete came out of his room at the ruckus, an entertained look on his face as he gawked at the scenario. Paul was straightening his shirt, wiping atthe excess spit that was sheltered at the corner of his mouth. George was trying his best to pull Stuart into another corner of the area, trying his best to hold in the smile that was formulating because of the fact that Paul had literally spitted on someone.

“Don’t you ever think about grabbing on me like that again. Or I’ll gauge your eyes out instead.” Paul had darkly threatened, which caused George to fully sputter out laughing. He huffed, and exchanged gazes at an amused Pete Best, who had only shrugged at him, before rolling his eyes and departing away from the scene.

“Fuck off you bloody fetus!” Stuart spat in return, which caused echoes of laughter to crowd the area.

Paul allowed himself to gently chuckle with a soft smile at the angry comment Stuart made as he closed the door. That was a good one, but he wouldn’t let Stuart know that.

Later on that night, John and Paul fell to sleep facing each other in the same bed. George noticed in the morning that they both had smiles on their faces, for a minute he wondered if both of them dreamt about getting shagged by a bird as they slept. What a weird pair of people. At the end he didn’t stay long, most likely because there was breakfast to get and he would be damned if some hungry bloke went to go get it, to go fucking eat all of it from him.

Then everyone would have a weird day, because George was just like that about his food.

Pete on the other hand didn’t even go to their room to check. Simply because he couldn’t give a fuck about what goes on with the other three, and he would be the one to get the breakfast that was there first.

Stuart, who had a pink eye due to Paul’s spit being catapulted into his eyes, only glanced at them. He would never understand the two of them, but at the same time that was John and Paul. To be frank, he would never understand Paul McCartney. Maybe he was not supposed to, all he knew is that the boy hated his guts for an odd reason he could not pinpoint. Hopefully he figures it out before the time comes for him.

•••


End file.
